


The Thirst for Strahd

by Hedgehogwert



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chair Bondage, Dungeon, Hand Jobs, M/M, Master/Servant, Slow Build, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedgehogwert/pseuds/Hedgehogwert
Summary: Hérion, the half-elf ranger is trapped in Barovia with his other companions. They traverse the lands, trying desperately to find some way to put an end to the tyrannical vampire lord, Strahd Von Zarovitch's reign.However, to Hérion's surprise, he finds that "hate" is not quite the thing he feels towards the vampire lord...





	The Thirst for Strahd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyzeia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyzeia/gifts).



> This is my first time writing something involving smut. I hope that it is to your liking, and feel free to give me any feedback in the comments!
> 
> Also, thank you to Ladyzeia for inspiring my writing, and giving me feedback on my work!

Hérion’s arrow whizzes by the head of Hope, sticking into the dark druid beyond, who is chanting around a giant wooden statue of the dark lord of the land of Barovia, Strahd, as the battle continues around him on Yester Hill. Each of Hérion’s compatriots are engaged with dark beings protecting the chanting clan. Amar and Lock furiously try to kill a seemingly immortal old hag, Hope runs away from his staved pursuer, Thorin is in a headlocked battle with one of the dark protectors, and Rose, uncharacteristically is morphed into a giant bear, mauling another. The battle persists, our party chipping away at the enemies before us. 

Suddenly, Hérion hears the sound of horse hooves trampling up the path behind him to Yester Hill, and snaps back to see a menacing black carriage drawn by an equally horrifying black horse with a flaming mane, approaching closer and closer to where he now stands. 

“He’s coming! Strahd is coming up the hill!” Hérion yells to the rest of the party. 

All battling ceases for a moment as Hérion’s comrades, as well as the druids and their dark protectors, pause to stare at the improaching carriage. The horse lets out a deep roaring neigh, and the carriage stops in the middle of the battlefield. The door opens suddenly, and a figure emerges. He is clad in an ornate golden breastplate, behind him a luxurious black and red cape hangs, encompassing his air of nobility and elegance. He turns his head, surveying the surrounding battle scene, his long, silky, black hair, carefully slicked back, brushing his shoulders. He has an air and mannerisms of a like that Hérion has never seen before, even with his wretched father being a nobleman. 

Strahd’s gaze briefly lands on Hérion, scrutinizing his figure head to toe. Hérion feels a cold chill run down his spine as his eyes briefly meet with those of the dark lord, a flash of terror and a feeling of overwhelmedness run through his head. 

“Now what have we here?” Strahd speaks with a voice like warm leather. Deep, smooth, and exceedingly sensual in nature. The low tracks of baritone seem to overcome Hérion, and many of his fellow adventurers as well. All on the field are enraptured with each of the dark lord’s words: “My adventurers engaged in quelling the power of the dark druids. Oh how noble. I would very much like to see how this event will play out.” 

With that, Strahd stepped off to the side as the battle hesitantly continued. No one dared to engage with the dark lord, for everyone knew that to confront him now would be certain death. Strahd gazed on as the battle continued, analyzing intently at the performance of each of the party members. Hérion shot another arrow with his longbow, sinking it into one of the chanting druids, and ending the poor creature’s life. Off to the side Hérion hears an unmistakable deep voice:

“Very nice shot. Well executed.”

Hérion turns his head to see Strahd’s incriminatingly powerful gaze latched onto him. Hérion’s heart starts to beat faster, he feels his face suddenly flush at the sight of the dark lord’s charged stare. He is suddenly confused with the conflicting emotions arising in him all at once: fear, pride, admirance, provocation. He quickly averts his gaze and let out a weak:

“Uh… thanks.”

The battle trudges on. The old hag that Lock and Amar were fighting is somehow still alive, despite having her weapon thrown away from her, Rose has moved on to her second victim of mauling, and Hope and Thorin continue to fend off the dark protectors. All of a sudden, the ground begins to shake, and the chanting druids fall silent. The heart of the wooden statue begins to glow green, vines start to encircle the entirety of it, as it turns into a gigantic tree monster. Strahd shakes his head:

“I see. So that is how this ends then.” With that, he makes his way back into his carriage, momontrily shooting a piercing look at Hérion, filling him with the same myriad of emotions yet again, this time with a pang of disappointment as he realizes that him and his party have failed their mission to stop the druids. The flaming horse neighs as it carries the dark lord’s carriage back the way it came on the path leading up to Yester Hill. 

…

The party stares at the gaping hole where the winery used to be. After completing its purpose, the monstrous tree had left, leaving the party gaping at the consequence of failing to stop the druids. Thankfully, Rose had flew off to warn those at the winery, so no one was harmed. 

“We... should probably get some rest,” Hope speaks solemnly in the silence. There is a soft murmur of agreement from the company as they find a small patch of clear land near the forest. Lock has the first lookout, so the rest of the company eats their rations, set out their bed rolls, and tries to get some sleep under the hazy night sky, and try no to think about the evil being lurking in the forest. 

…

Hérion wakes with a start. He looks around him, his surroundings strange, his friends gone. He looks down, he is sitting on a chair, it’s upholstery bound in red velvet. His hands are bound by leather straps to the arms of the chair, cold sweat starts to accumulate on his forehead. He starts to take some deep breaths, and looks around more closely at his surroundings. He is in a medium sized room, the walls built from cobblestone, torches sparsely adorning them. The floor is stone, moisture glistens from it, giving Hérion a sense that he is deep underground. In front of him is a closed wooden door with a series of metal latches locking it tight. Whatever this room was used for, they sure didn't want anybody to be able to leave. To the right of the door is a table. Upon looking at its contents, Hérion’s heart starts to beat feverishly with fear. 

Upon the table lays an array of torture devices. Clamps, needles, pliers, rope, chains, and leather whips…

Millions of thoughts rush through Hérion's head: Where is he? What is going to happen to him? Where are his friends? Are they hurt? Who brought him here? Is he going to die?  
Then all of a sudden, he hears the sound of one of the door’s locks unlatching. With each click, his pulse increases tenfold, sweat pours down his face like a broken fountain, until the final latch is undone. The door creaks open slowly, until the doorway is filled with the silhouette of a caped figure.

“I see you have awoken.” An unmistakably smooth voice fills the dreary room. Hérion's heart gets caught in his throat. Strahd Von Zarovich steps into the dimly lit chamber, gazing piercingly down at Hérion immobilized in the chair. 

“I apologize for the circumstances of this room, but it seemed the only appropriate place to bring an unconscious visitor.” Strahd wanders over to the table containing all of the different devices. “I suspect that these accommodations are not too much to your discomfort?” His hand gently picks up the leather whip, and he runs his fingers over it delicately before placing it back down on the table. 

Hérion’s throat becomes dry, his body beginning to tremble. He had never felt this much fear at any previous moment in his life. Or is this feeling fear? 

Strahd turns back toward Hérion, “As you might have already guessed, I have brought you and your little party here to Barovia for a reason. I have been carefully observing all of you in attempt to determine how useful each of you could be to me. But, in the end, it is only one I seek. The one who pleases me most will be the one to be chosen,” as he talks, Strahd slowly takes several steps closer to Hérion, “the one to have their wildest dreams fulfilled,” he approaches even closer, with each of his steps, Hérions heart trembles more and more violently, “the one who will serve me.” As he says this, Strahd stands straight before Hérion, Hérion’s neck straining to look up at Strahd’s imperious expression. Fear and enchantment course through his body as he is enraptured with Strahd’s sudden proximity. 

“Now, please me.”

Hérion’s mouth drops down slightly at this command. He breathes rapidly, his mind trying to comprehend what is happening. After several moments of being unable to articulate his words, Hérion manages to squeak out a strained reply,

“How?”

Strahd’s mouth curls into a grin as his eyes shimmer with fervor. He turns his gaze toward his pants, and stares back at Hérion. Realization hits Hérion like a whip, as his heart misses a beat. His face flushes as he alternates his gaze between his focal point of Strahd’s pants, and up at his face, dancing with pleasure. Hérion gulps. He goes to move his hand, but is restrained by the leather strap. Remembering his current mobilization predicament, Hérion looks down at his restraints,

“Will you remove m-”

“There is no need.” Strahd’s eyes are fixed on Hérion. He reaches out, and slightly strokes Hérion’s cheek, sending a thrill through his body. Strahd then grasps Hérion’s chin with a minor firmness, raising his head up toward him. He grazes his thumb across Hérions lips, slightly parting them, “use your mouth.” 

A breath escapes from Hérions lips as a bolt of excitement runs through him. His heart is beating so fast that it seems like it could escape from his chest at any moment. After Strahd removes his hand from Hérion’s chin, Hérion hesitantly leans forward in the chair, becoming face to face with his fate. 

With some struggle, Hérion manages to undo the tie of Strahd’s pants with his teeth, followed by the tie of his braies, exposing all of him to Hérion. Hérion sucks in a breath, and with a sudden rush of lust, dives forward, engulfing Strahd into his mouth. Strahd lets out a breath of pleasure as Hérion’s glides of tongue manage to make him erect. Moans and grunts of pleasure escape from Strahd as Hérion continues his mouthing maneuvers. Hérion starts to move faster when Strahd grasps the back of his head, guiding his pace. 

Faster, and with more force, Strahd pushes and pulls Hérion’s head, to the point where Strahd’s grasp upon his hair is painful. The pace becomes almost unbearable, until Strahd releases one final moan of pleasure, tightly holding Hérion’s head in place as he reaches his climax. Hérion almost chokes for a moment, but he manages to hold it in. 

Strahd breathes heavily as Hérion raises his gaze up toward him, searching for some kind of sign or expression that he has pleased the Dark Lord. Strahd looks down upon Hérion, and replacing the expression that moments before was wracked in pleasure, is a look that says that he is expecting something more. A flash of worry runs through Hérion, his eyes almost pleading to Strahd. The flash passes in a second as Hérion’s eyes revert back to those of lust, and he swallows all that was in his mouth. 

Strahd’s mouth curls into a smile as he gracefully pulls up his braies and trousers. Hérion’s heart pounds at the thought of what is next to come, curiosity and desire overwhelming him. After his final tie is done, Strahd places his hands atop Hérion’s arms, upon the arms of the chair, leaning in closer to him, forcing him to press his head against the back:

“You’ve done well, I am pleased. Would you like me to do something for you now?”

Upon hearing Strahd’s words, Hérion’s eyes go wide, his mouth becomes dry. With a nervous gulp enforced with lust, he rapidly nods his head, as words fail to escape his lips.

Strahd chuckles for a moment, “eager I see, well, we have to do something about this now, don’t we?” With that, Strahd reaches down with his right hand to the bulge in Hérion’s pants. Hérion lets about a gasp of pleasure as Strahd teases him over the fabric. 

“Don’t tell me it’s become like this just from what you did to me? My, how intriguing indeed.” As he speaks, Strahd continues to play with Hérion, a wet spot beginning to form on his pants. “I’ve done barely anything, and you are already this far? Such a weak creature indeed.” Hérions breath becomes more and more ragged as his gasps become more pronounced. Strahd moves his hand to untie Hérion’s trousers, as well as his braies. Hérion stares into Strahd’s intense expression, until holding his gaze becomes unbearable, and he looks aside. 

“Ahhh-ah!” Hérion lets out a charged moan as Strahd releases the strain in his pants. His hand travels its length, up and down, sending Hérion into a frenzy of pleasure. He forgets where he is right now, forgets his restraints, forgets the darkness of this land, and the only things he knows are Strahd, and pleasure. 

Hérion’s moans become louder as Strahd’s grip becomes tighter, his pace faster, bringing Hérion closer to climax, the moment of true pleasure. Hérion opens his eyes to see Strahd’s piercing, lascivious gaze fixed upon him.

And with a final masterful stroke of Strahd’s hand…

Hérion wakes with a start. He is sitting in his bedroll, the rest of the party sleeping soundly around him. The winery is behind him, utterly destroyed, and the newly opened cave awaits the party in the morning. Hérion’s heartbeat is still rapid, his breath still jagged as he takes in his surroundings, his reality. He hears footsteps approaching beside him:

“Are you alright? I was on guard duty and I saw your sudden awakening.” Hope stands before Hérion, a slightly concerned look upon his face. 

Hérion panics internally for a second, “N-no, I’m fine. Just a dream. No big deal. I-I can take over duty if you want, I’d like to walk around for a little while anyway, to clear my head.”

Hope looks a Hérion a little suspiciously, “Alright, if you wish.”

Hérions throws of the cover of the bedroll, and stands up.

“Oh Gods! What kind of dream were you having?!” Hope turns his head away from Hérion, putting his hand up as a shield.

Hérion, confused, looks down. His pants gave him no help in hiding, perhaps even exemplifying his current state of mood. He turns bright red, “I-It’s nothing!!” He yells to Hope as he covers himself with his hands and runs away to hide behind some rubble. As he runs, he barely hears Lock say softly in the distance, “What was nothing?” 

\---END PART 1---


End file.
